Sound of Gunfire, See My Tears
by Nefertiri's Handmaiden
Summary: King was a vampire. How will he face the demons that plague him? How will he let Abby reach out to him. PART IV ALTERED! Rating for language and gore.
1. Part I

Sound of Gunfire, See My Tears

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: Sighs Why do I bother? You all know that I don't own Blade I, II, or III. But just to make sure. . . I don't own Blade I, II, or III.

Note: My second Blade fic. This one is an Abby/King story, and includes A LOT of King angst. I'm not really sure of everything that will happen in this story.

Note the Second: Chapters will vary in length. One may be twelve pages; one may be half a page. There will be quite a bit of time-jumping at seemingly random places, but I promise you that there is a rhyme and reason to it. Be prepared for flashbacks, as well. But fear not, I will make certain you know what is a flashback and what is not.

Also, I'd like to take this moment to say that Ryan Reynolds is raging fine.

Rated R for language and gore, and probably some very strong innuendo, but we'll see what happens in that department as we go.

--

Gunfire.

Screams.

Ash.

Darkness. Light. Darkness.

_Blood. _

So much _blood._

_Danica Talos. _

--

Hannibal King sat up in bed with a start, drenched in cold sweat. He ran a hand through his light brown hair and tried to slow his breathing. Tears, a product of his dream, ran down his face and caught in his beard.

The Honeycomb hideout was quiet tonight, but for the sound of Hedges snoring down the hall and the thunder that shook the structure with its power.

King lay back down and tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes Danica's face flashed in his mind. Eyes laughing cruelly. Fangs glistening crimson with his blood.

Blood. Always blood.

He opened his eyes and resigned himself to the fact that tonight he would not sleep. He stood up and moved to the window, stopping only briefly to pull on a pair of blue plaid pajama pants. The floor was freezing. He rested his forehead against the cold glass and stared out at the world. For a moment the sky lit up. It was day. For a moment.

And then there was darkness again.

He turned to the dresser and rested his palms heavily on it, letting the sturdy structure support most of his weight. He glanced up at the mirror that stood on top of the dresser. He caught sight of his reflection and stopped to look more closely.

Christ, was that _him_?

At first glance he looked like the perfect specimen of man. Strong, bronze, and unscarred. But there was something else there, too. His face betrayed him.

There were deep shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, and his eyes themselves. . .

So tired. So. . . _old._

His eyes skimmed down his reflection to his abdomen, just above his pajama pants. There, in vivid contrast to his tan skin, was a blue-ish-black tattoo.

In the end, it all came back to Danica Talos.

"Fuck you, bitch," King muttered vindictively.

He looked at the glyph a moment more and then, disgusted with himself and with his past, he pulled his pants just high enough to cover it. He returned to his bed and rested on his back with his hands behind his head as he stared moodily at this ceiling, hating Danica Talos.

In the end, she would get hers.

He vowed it. He vowed it on every drop of blood she'd forced down his unwilling throat. . . that he might live a little longer for her to play with.

--


	2. Part II

Sound of Gunfire, See My Tears

Part II

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: I don't own Blade. I don't even pretend to own Blade. I just borrow the characters.

Note: This chapter doesn't further the plot much, so if you get bored, feel free to read only the last section. I mostly put it in because I liked the way it characterized the Nightstalkers and their relationship with one another. It also shows the side of King that tries to pretend the past doesn't bother him.

--

The next morning found King in the kitchen, flipping pancakes and adding sausage to the large pile he'd already stacked on a plate.

Zoë skipped into the kitchen and gave him an enthusiastic, "Good morning, King!"

"Mornin', squirt," he returned with a grin. "Want some pancakes? I made some with chocolate chips, just for you."

"Mom says I'm not supposed to eat chocolate this early in the morning."

King winked at her as he set her plate on the table for her. "I won't tell her if you don't," he whispered secretively.

Zoë grinned happily, and dug in.

Abby was the next to wander in about half an hour later, just as Zoë wandered out. "I smell pancakes."

"Your plate's already on the table," King said as he motioned to the steaming stack of banana pancakes that Abby adored. She sat down and grabbed the syrup.

"Damn, King," she said after she'd taken a bite. "Whatever other faults you have, you make some kick-ass pancakes."

"What do you mean, 'other faults?' I'm flawless."

She snorted into her milk. "You keep thinkin' that, King. Maybe it'll come true."

He grinned as Dex entered the room. "Is it sanitary to cook without a shirt on?" Dex asked with a smile.

"You want your pancakes or not, jackass?"

Somerfield entered a few minutes later, grinning. She inhaled deeply, smelling the breakfast.

The grin died a quick death.

"King, I cannot _believe_ you made Zoë chocolate chip pancakes!"

King winced. He stood stock still. "Maybe if I'm real quiet," he whispered to Abby, "She won't know I'm here."

"And put a shirt on," Somerfield barked as she sat down and started eating the peach pancakes King set on the table as a peace offering.

King looked at her in astonishment. "How the hell do you do that?"

--

"You had another nightmare last night." Abby stated matter-of-factly as she stepped into the make-shift gym of the Honeycomb Hideout, empty but for King doing curls with a very large weight. Not far away was the punching bag. He'd used permanent marker to draw fangs on it.

He froze for a moment mid-curl, and then continued without an answer.

Silence for a minute or two.

"I can hear you at night, King. That makes five in the last two weeks."

He said nothing.

"Fine."

Abby left.

--


	3. Part III

Sound of Gunfire, See My Tears

Part III

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: I don't wanna. You can't make me. Sees lawyers waving lawsuits. On second thought. . . I don't own Blade I, II, or III, and I don't own the characters in any of the three movies.

Note: This chapter will probably be a bit longer than the past two. You may want to get comfortable.

Note the Second: This chapter is also full of flashbacks, but it should be pretty clear what is and what isn't a flashback. The flashbacks cover some of King's time with Danica (nothing terribly graphic, but if you don't think you can handle very vague descriptions, you may want to skip those parts) and what I believe to be the beginning of his love for Abby, and hers for him.

--

King spit and pulled away from Danica as quickly as he could, disgusted.

Jesus Christ, he hated her with all his heart and soul. 

With whatever was left of them, anyway.

He scurried away as fast as his broken body would allow, huddling in the far corner as she pulled her skirt down and stalked away, laughing. In the silence after the door slammed, King rested his head against the cold concrete wall as he sat slumped on the floor.

"God, rescue me."

--

Danica forced the liquid down his throat. He struggled to break free of her clutches, but he was too weak.

It was warm and sticky and tasted of iron and salt.

Once the bowl was empty, she pushed him roughly to the ground and he only barely managed to catch himself on his hands and knees.

Retching violently, he spewed up a mixture of bile and blood. Exhausted and weak, he collapsed into the disgusting mess as he passed out.

The door slammed and her laughter faded away into the darkness.

How long had it been since he'd last seen the sun?

--

And so he was a slave to her sick fantasies. If he did as she said, she would think about letting him live, for a little while longer at least. But perhaps death would be better than this.

When he woke from what little sleep he was allowed to get, it was always to a nightmare. Fangs and pain and blood and hell.

_Let death come. I will welcome it. _

And yet he endured.

--

Even prayer had become obsolete.

Then, one day as he sat chained to the floor, trying to will his heart to stop, there was a scream from somewhere in the distance. He rose to his knees and then stilled, listening.

Another scream. And another. Closer, now.

Was that gunfire?

The door was suddenly blasted off its hinges, and King ducked to avoid being hit by it.

And an Angel entered.

She was beautiful. That he could not deny. Her hair was auburn and her skin flawless. She stood tall and proud and her eyes were just a strong as the rest of her. But she was a strange angel, he decided. She was dressed in leather pants and a white wife beater. A bow rose over her shoulder and a revolver hung from a holster strapped to her at waist and thigh. She carried some sort of. . . light arc?

Angel of Death?

God, he hoped so.

She stood watching him for a moment, her expression unreadable. He bowed his head and did not move. She would kill him.

_Please, kill me. _

But she did not. She placed a hand under his chin and lifted his head to meet his eyes. She studied them for a moment, and suddenly hers were filled with pity.

"There is a cure."

And she stretched out her hand to him.

--

King woke up several days after his liberation and did nothing as he took stock of his surroundings.

Where was he?

The room was dark, light by only a lamp in the corner. He lay in a soft bed that smelled of clean sheets. Something beeped soft and constant by his bedside. Heart monitor?

Things rushed back to him suddenly.

Gunfire. Angel. Fire and ash. A fast ride somewhere. Then a dark room. Excruciating pain. And now here.

He smiled softly and fell back asleep.

--

Every time he looked at her, he remembered. And he was grateful.

And he loved her.

He loved everything about her. He loved the way she looked when she was working out and the way she looked when she whipped Hedges at Halo. He loved to watch her smile and he loved to make her laugh.

But there was a still a beast inside him. No matter how many vampires he killed, he could not change the past.

The blood could never be repaid.

What right had he to ask anything of her?

--

Abby stilled recalled with shocking clarity the moment she'd first seen Hannibal King.

He had looked so pathetic. Broken. Hopeless. Lost.

Dead.

Two voices inside her had raged battle briefly.

The second voice won.

"There is a cure."

The look in his eyes. Pure relief. Gratefulness. To her? To God? It didn't matter.

He'd taken her hand and for a moment she smiled at him before she'd pulled away to blast apart his chains.

Then she'd pulled him to his feet and supported his weight as together they'd stumbled from the building of ashes.

--

Part of Abby smiled every time she saw him now. He was strong and good looking and had that quick-witted mouth and such. . . _will_.

And she knew that, above all, he hated Danica Talos.

She heard him cursing her at night after he'd wake up from his nightmares of her. The nightmares, too, Abby heard.

"No, no, no-no-no. Don't make me. I don't want to."

And then sobs that only she could hear. Some nights, screams that echoed through the Honeycomb Hideout.

No one ever mentioned the screams in the morning.

Why wouldn't he talk to her? Didn't he know that she wanted to listen? Didn't he know she would comfort him when he cried?

Didn't he know she loved him?

--

Three weeks after he'd first awoken in Honeycomb Hideout, King was looking better than he had in five years. He was a healthy pink color, smiling all the time, and starting to build muscle by way of several hours a day in the gym under the tutelage of Abby.

On Saturday morning, he made everyone pancakes.

Somerfield came to him one evening as he sat in the gym.

"Your last blood test came through clean, King. You're all human now." King was silent for a moment. "What?"

"Does this mean. . .?"

"It means you're clear to do whatever the hell you want."

King grinned.

--

Abby woke late on Sunday morning and looked out her window. There, standing on the dock outside Honeycomb Hideout, face raised to the bright blue sky, eyes closed, was Hannibal King.

She pulled on some clothes, and joined him quietly. She waited. Finally, he turned to face her and opened his eyes.

"It's been five years, three months, one week, and four days since I last felt the sun on my face."

She smiled, and suddenly King didn't think the sun seemed quite so brilliant anymore.

--


	4. Part IV

Sound of Gunfire, See My Tears

Part IV

Nefertiri's Handmaiden

Disclaimer: Why can't you get it?? I. Do. Not. Own. Blade.

Note: In this chapter, we skip over the events that occurred in Blade: Trinity. Just so you're not confused.

Note the Second: Okay, I was completely disgusted with the first version of Part IV. Completely. It was not a good chapter, in my opinion. I have therefore edited to the extreme, in essence rewriting the entire second half. However, if you preferred the previous version, I will be happy to re-post it as an Alternative Part IV, in addition to this one, which I have decided will stand as the official.

--

And now Hedges was dead. And Dex, and Somerfield. Dead.

And Blade was out there somewhere.

And the vampires. . . gone.

Danica Talos. A pile of embers on a cold metal staircase.

And King was left alone with Abby, and with Zoë. A strange, broken, battered, and bruised family. But a family nonetheless.

And yet, deep in the pit of his stomach, King was sick. Sick with the knowledge of his own fear. How well Danica had known him. Sick with the knowledge that somewhere, hidden deep within his soul, the vampire in him was still alive. 

Danica Talos' death had changed nothing.

The revenge. . . it hadn't soothed the beast inside him.

He still had nightmares. Only now they were of Zoë lying bloody and cold on the floor as he wiped her blood from his mouth, then returned for more.

He watched them now. Zoë, once so vibrant, now somber and permanently scarred, and Abby, still his queen, playing a video game. He turned away, and headed to the gym to work away the demons that plagued him.

--

Weeks passed, and the Earth kept turning. Nights came, nightmares shook his sleep, and the sun rose to illuminate the darkness. For a while, at least.

He made pancakes once.

But just the once.

Because he found that he couldn't just make the chocolate chip and banana for Zoë and Abby. He had to make Hedges' favorite, and Dex's, and Somerfield's. He tried to stop himself, but before he knew it, he was staring sickly at the pancakes that were steaming invitingly on plates, smothered in powdered sugar and blueberries and peaches.

When Zoë and Abby came in, neither of them found any appetite.

King ate every single pancake.

--

Abby found him later, in the gym, pounding away at the vampire punching bag. She smiled at the string of explanative coming from him, then sobered as she noted the rage and despair in his body language. She sat down on a bench.

"I heard you again last night."

He ignored her.

"King, you can't run from your fears forever."

He ignored once more and she lost her temper, her nerves already frayed by the stress of loss.

"You're a dumbass, you know that?" she shouted, moving around to the opposite side of the punching bag. "Don't you get that I'm trying to help you, jackass? Don't you get that if you keep trying to do this alone you're never going to get anywhere? Why won't you let me help you? Why won't you let me in?"

He stopped punching. "Do you _really_ want to know? _Really_?"

She nodded. For a second, neither of them moved.

Then King exploded. He slammed his fist into the bag with every bit of strength in his body, leaning into the blow with his full weight. The bag swung so hard that the metal chain suspending it snapped with a _crack_ and the bag flew from its place, hitting the floor with a heavy _thud_ and sliding several feet before it hit the wall with a loud _smack_ and came to a stop.

"YOU WANT TO KNOW? YOU WANT TO GET IT? 'CAUSE I DON'T THINK YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT THAT MEANS!"

"THEN TELL ME!"

For a second he was silent, contemplating. Then he spoke, and his eyes spoke with him of his fear and self-loathing.

"Abby... this thing, this dark thing inside me. . . you can't stop it. No one can. It's this thing that I hate, that I never wanted, that scares the hell out of me. . . but I can't get rid of it. Danica. . . her death. . . it didn't change anything. It's a _part_ of me now. And that disgusts me. It makes me disgust myself. If I let it out, even for a minute... how could I expect it not to disgust you, too?"

There was silence as she stared at him, saw the pain, anger, hurt, and disgust in his eyes. He turned away, stalked off a few paces. Slowly, she followed him, faced him, placed a comforting hand on his chest. She moved to meet his eyes.

"It scares me to think that one day they might bite me, too. And it hurts to see them destroy the people I care about. And I know it scares you; to think of existing that way again. But... Hannibal... You're my family now. And I won't lose another member of my family."

He reached to cover her hand on his chest with his.

"But, Abby, what if you're not there to stop it next time? What if this was only stalling the inevitable? What if the vampire inside me can't be stopped?"

She didn't know how to answer.

"Abby, I need you to promise me something."

"What?"

"If they ever get me again... if they ever turn me back into a monster... I need you to end it for me."

"King, I-"

His hands tightened over hers. "Promise me."

And suddenly she got it. He was _terrified_ of this thing he knew he was capable of becoming. _Terrified_. In that moment, she understood that he could not exist that way again. And he needed her to be his lifeline. He needed to trust her not to let him become what he feared so absolutely. He needed her to be his lifeline.

And in that moment, she knew that she was prepared to do anything – _anything_ – to prevent the man that she loved from becoming what he so desperately feared.

She swallowed, tears in her eyes. "I promise."

--

One night, not so very long later, another storm rolled though, and Hannibal King was lying in his bed, very much awake. Still seeing the bloody images of his dream in his mind, still disgusted with himself.

His door opened, he looked up, expecting to see Zoë, fresh from one of her own vivid nightmares.

He saw Abby. She was wearing only her underwear, her auburn hair falling in her face in a sleepy fashion.

"King? Are you awake?"

"Yeah. You okay?" he asked, sitting up.

She said nothing, only climbed into bed beside him and curled up next to his body. He wrapped an arm around her, like it was the only natural thing to do.

"You had a bad dream," she said after long minutes of silence.

"Yeah."

"You want to tell me?"

. . . "No. Better left alone. Let's sleep now."

They slept.

When the sun rose in the morning, big and red and beautiful, stretching into the sky to overpower the darkness, King thought it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen...

... When it hit upon her gorgeous form lying comfortably in his arms.

Peace would come, in time, if she would stay there.

--

Things would always be tough. The three of them had seen too much pain.

But King found solace in the family that the three of them had forged together through sheer determination.

They leaned on each other, supported each other, kept the darkness in each other at bay. They loved each other.

That was what mattered.

Zoë smiled now.

Sometimes.

And the vampire in him was still there; would always be there; was part of him now.

He would learn to live with it.

He could, now.

--


End file.
